


Igor

by blazingphoenix



Category: Fringe
Genre: AU, F/M, Fringe Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:25:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazingphoenix/pseuds/blazingphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The assistant is nothing like what he expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Igor

**Author's Note:**

> _Prompt: blue!Lincoln/blue!Astrid, glasses, fluff, (anything)_
> 
> ...Except me being me, I wrote the amber versions instead. Apologies to the original prompter. Takes place in an alternate version of S4.

When Lincoln gets assigned to help a Division in Boston, he's told three things.

One: if he breathes a word about what he is about to see, he will be personally trialled by the FBI for treason and sentenced to life in prison.  He will never see daylight again.

Two: what he will see, that he hasn't seen already, will be the stuff of nightmares.  This trip will be one of no return.  This is his last warning.

Three: he will be working with the head agent of the team, a mad scientist, and his assistant out of their main lab in Boston.

Of the three, two live up to their impressions.

When he had been told main lab, he hadn't expected it to be a basement lab in Harvard.  With a cow.  He reels from the moment he steps in, glasses tipped down his nose which he pushes back up.  The equipment is ancient and the place smells.  Jars sit with labels plastered on them, black on yellows and whites.

The head agent comes in the shape of Olivia Dunham, a woman with blond hair and olive eyes of stone, no emotions leaving her face.  She wears her suit smartly, walks with a pace of surety.  When he meets with her she barely smiles, just greets him curtly and hands him a file which she tells him to read.  In a way she is what he expects, if only just slightly more cold.

Walter Bishop is the mad scientist, and an agoraphobic to top it.  He mumbles and his hand twitches, lab coat, yellow and grey, hanging off his shoulder.  Lincoln thinks he's disturbed, his head snapping around at the slightest sound; the way he freaks out at the appearance of Lincoln is evidence enough.  For the next two hours, he locks himself in his room (his bedroom, Lincoln learns later.  The man lives in his own lab).

The assistant is nothing like he expects.  He expects an Igor-like assistant, someone who willingly follows the mad scientist and caters his every need.  He expects baggy clothes and a limp, a speech impediment and bedraggled hair.

He meets her when he knocks a beaker off the table, sends its contents spilling onto the floor with a smash.  There's the quick click of heels when he bends down to help clean up before a voice says, "Don't.  Touch.  Anything."  Lincoln freezes, body caught between standing and squatting.  There's a snap of rubber and bright yellow gloves come into view.  "One thing you learn in Walter's lab," comments the same voice, "is that you don't ever touch anything without gloves.  You can stand up by the way."  His gaze meets a woman with tight brown curls and a small smile.  "You must be our transfer agent."

Lincoln nods.  "Mmph... Hartford, Connecticut."

"Nice to meet you, Hartford Connecticut."  He blinks and looks at her.  She has a grin on her face, a sparkle in her eyes as she laughs inwardly.  Lincoln can't help but smile too.  "Let's try that again.  I'm Astrid Farnsworth, and you are?"

"Lincoln.  Lee," he adds, and Astrid laughs even more.

She gathers the broken shards into one of her gloved hand then with the other wipes the spilled liquid with a cloth.  There's a faint putrid smell coming from it now and Lincoln twitches his nose.

"What is that?"

Astrid pulls a face.  "I wish I knew.  Nothing is ever what it seems in Walter's lab.  It could LSD or a man-eating toxin."  Lincoln feels his eyes widen to what must be a comical size.  She giggles and states simply, "Welcome to Fringe Division."  She strides off, leaving Lincoln blinking in her wake.

***

"You guys deal with this all the time?"

He's lying on a hospital bed, glasses slightly lopsided.  His arms and face are still slightly tinged green from where the tendrils of 'Gus' were.  Astrid gives him a small smile from the door.

"This is the first time we've had a sentient fungus," she says, as if it answers everything.  "Don't worry.  You'll get used to it.  After all, it's 'fun'."

Lincoln groans at her attempt at humor before his head falls back onto the pillow.  He feels her move to the side of the bed and place something on the foot table.  There's a rich aroma in the air now, of butter and cream and jam.

"I baked a few things," she says as she unloads a bag, pulling out small cakes.  When he stares she shrugs.  "It's my coping mechanism.  Helps me get to sleep."  She says the last bit in a tone of knowing.

He looks out of the window, to the glittering lights as they flicker.  There's the faint sound of blaring horns as he watches cars drive by.  From the side, Astrid crosses her arms.

"Lincoln, you can't keep going like this."

"What else can I do?"

"Eat."  She holds a cake in front of him.  "Then we'll talk."

He looks at her with a slight frown as he takes the cake; she reflects it back.  The cupcake is soft, light, topped with a small layer of cream, and he takes a bite.

"Astrid," he coughs out as the flavors burst on his tongue, "this is amazing."

Her smile is small and amused.  "One of the perks of working with Walter.  He likes perfecting his recipes."

They talk as he eats, the pile of used paper cake cups rising.  It's a comfort, being with Astrid.  Apart from Olivia, she's really the only one who knows what's going on, someone he can talk to.  She's a good listener, attentive as he unloads all his confusion onto her.  In return, she tells him of the things he hasn't see, of giant worms and exploding heads that makes Lincoln think himself lucky.

"Bet you miss Connecticut, huh?"

He looks at her with earnest behind his eyes.  "Not really."

***

He's sitting in his diner hangout, body crouched over his book and coffee.  The location lies a few blocks away from his hotel, found after 5 continuous days of exploration for distraction.  He doesn't expect anyone to find him, especially at this time in the morning.

"So this is where you hang out."  The voice is unexpected, makes Lincoln jump and turn quickly.  Astrid is standing beside his seat, hands in her jacket pockets and a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck.

He frowns.  "It's 2am."  

She looks at him with a raised eyebrow.  "Then what are you doing here?"

"Puzzles, crosswords.  Coffee."  He holds up his cup with its third refill since his arrival.  "Things to keep me occupied."

"What about sleep?"

He plays with the pen in his hand, swinging it between his fingers to tap on his thumb.  He gives her no answer, but her response in silence tells him she knows.

She takes the seat next to him, crosses her arm and peers at him.  "Bad dreams?" she asks simply, in a quiet voice so that no one will hear them.

Lincoln nods, a movement so slight he doesn't think he did it.  He hears Astrid breathe out beside him.  Her scarf is gone, coat unbuttoned as she makes herself comfortable to the diner's warmer temperature.

"You wanna talk?"

He turns to look her in the eyes, where the warm browns encompass his worry.  "How do you cope?" he says, hands clenched as he talks.  "For three years you've seen these things, investigated them.  How do you just move past?"

There's a small pause before she answers.  "I don't."  Astrid's looking down now, not at him anymore.  "I see them every night when I close my eyes, every time I walk into the lab."  She's running her thumb over her other hand, a continuous rubbing motion.  "But I cope with it by talking.  With Olivia, with Walter when he's not high.  With you."  She adds the last bit after a beat, as if she's unsure to his reaction.

Lincoln considers her.  For as long as he's known her, Astrid has been the most stable of the team.  She was also the most welcoming.  "I'd like that," he says with a smile.  "It'd probably help me too."

***

Slowly, he finds himself hanging out at the diner for different reasons.  Now, he's no longer there for the coffee, the quiet atmosphere in the middle of the night.  Lincoln finds himself looking forward to *her*, so much so that even the waitress can see, and has taken to pouring two cups of coffee every time he comes in.

She meets him every night, still smiling despite the time.  The exhausting days die when they talk, when they focus on the better things rather than the nightmares.

One night (morning, Lincoln supposes) the conversation shifts in direction and Astrid asks, "Wanna come over to mine?"

When he doesn't answer, blinks in silence at her, she comes to rest a palm on his cheek, a finger on the leg of his glasses.  Her eyebrows raise in question, begging an answer from him as she moves her other hand to hold his.

"That'd be nice," he says softly, and he follows her into the night.


End file.
